Words that Meant Nothing

There is so much to say and enough words to describe them. Nevertheless, I tremble to utter the first syllable with this overwhelming realisation that silence justifies it better. No flower has ever screamed out her passionate fragrance. It just hangs about nonchalantly. 

To you my love, I dedicate all that I have never explored in my labyrinth of emotions. You like a mystery, so let us together demystify the heart of a devout wanderer. For at your alter of love, lies the prayer of an alone dewdrop. Is it a tear that fled my eye? No one shall ever know, except the green smoothness of the leaf that held it. 

Rejoicing love when your shadow is far away. The whisper of the promise you made smoothens the fine lines on my brow. You say "look no further, I am you".

The Night

The silence of chaos brings peace to the rustling thoughts. The paints and colours float around searching for their pimp. There are no takers of the garish shades of my riotous speech this white evening. The brush counts its strokes and misses the math of hues mingling in the filthy tray of boredom. The sleeves are a tad longer and bear remnants of an euphoric evening dedicated to a box of pastels. 

The chilly winter moon looks out for a warm cover. Alas, she carelessly tied her mane to bundle her secrets. 

Nah, I won't paint tonight. Let the ends remain untied. Not all songs need a crescendo; a few fallen notes suffice one foggy midnight.

Temple and Winter

The temple bells rang and the drummer set the mood for the "Sandhya Aarti". The rhythmic beat of the drum, devotees almost in a transcendental space, the aroma of garlands, sandal and "dhoop", transported me to a new kind of awareness. As I stood there almost transfixed to the blue idol of "Maa Kali" silently sharing my wishes, a little nudge broke the spell. Two tiny, pudgy hands were holding onto the door latch, visibly restless since her parents were too busy modulating their material needs into a prayer most adults are guilty of. The 'holy' smoke did not interest her; the fluid hand gestures of the temple 'Purohit' did. She tapped her feet and swayed her waist, the cold marble floor warmed up to her innocence. 

Unable to contain a grin that was not well received by the stern looking lady draped in a white shawl by my side, I was now peeking at this little devil, my eyes semi-open. 

The "aarti" reached it's crescendo, heads were swaying heavily, almost intoxicated. The crowd was hurrying up to complete its quota of grievance call to the Divine. 

No one had bothered to care where the pint-sized brown girl had sauntered. I could see her open the lid of the brass vessel that held the holy water of Hindus, popularly called "Charanaamrit". One fist held the spoon and the other was open in anticipation of the sweet water. Spoon after spoon, she poured the magic potion on to her palm and slurped it. 

The drums, conch and bells reached the climax and at that same moment, in a swift move she lodged a spoonful of the fluid straight into her tiny mouth and with a quick look around to detect any prying adult eyes, she gleefully licked the spoon and dropped it back in the "kalash". 

As she regained her angel like composure, our eyes met and she knew that I had seen her. We grinned at each other and slowly walked away sharing a piece each of this divine secret and knowing so well that god's Charanaamrit was now her "mukhaamrit".

The temple had a new god for the first day of the new year. 

Winter is a funny story teller.

Meera

There he slides down the slope and towards the valley. Many more follow suit, yet none can defeat him. He tumbles, he fumbles, he halts to look around to see who is his closest competition. Not even a close second. He can smell victory, almost. The voyage resumes. The finish line is close, his heart beats quicker by the second. There is no stopping him now. And then he makes the final dash. Like a butterfly he flies off the edge. It is just the breeze of emancipation and his soul. No shackles. 

Meera was gazing skywards, lost in her evening reverie of curious tales. A cold jitter bursts open a series of familiar sensations. 

He was there, a glittering drop of rain on her porcelain cheek, the one who managed to get away from the silken smoothness of the car's silver body. He won. She applauded

It was raining the whole day.

April

The April breeze tickles my senses to awareness as the Sun makes a valiant effort to brush aside the pesky cloud. The green of the trees descends in my eyes as I make designs on the moist parapet wall. It was meant to be summer and yet the Sun is visibly lazy to blaze on. 

I am running a full marathon meandering through thoughts, ideas and memories and there is no easy respite. The answers hang boisterously as if they care not to appease the question. 

The familiar roads hum a new, pleasant song. The languorous Sun has given them reasons  aplenty to celebrate this Tuesday morning. 

My wanderlust is insatiable and yet today predictability of the familiar sights and space thrill my being to embrace the universe within with gratitude. 

Spring shots...

Walk Your Dreams

I feel as if I am walking through a dream. Moments come by when I see myself standing outside the dream and see it pass by. People, events, places and time; all seem to be living in their privy dreams. They mingle and they friction and at a certain point they disappear. 

That moment I find myself once again, alone yet bound, searching for that one essential thread that ties us to our wings of desire and quest. 

That moment when I sit gazing at the boundless sky and space and wonder how her search for the Divine is any different from his desire for means to achieve perfection. Isn't Divine perfect and perfection divine? 

I live like a dream for those who see me float by. Perhaps they imagine the day when our dreams would intersect and engrave their essence in each other. 

We were part of someone's dream decades back. Today we have a few more to fulfil. 

Dream on, create your world, live the life you dreamt of. You are blessed with the fire of imagination and eternal hope.

I Look for Me

The white soul flies around me, clouds help her to evade my sight. I am unable to breathe her in, she has dismantled her place from within me. Our song remains but in a few fragments now. 

My vision is obstructed, can only catch a few of her gleaming smiles. They show me the mirror. Each tear drop she shed had a story of each birth I took and every death I embraced. The breeze, the mist, the dew drop, the sweat, the fumes; they embrace me with a painful longing. She moves away, I chase her, yet my words create hurdles. 

Her innocence endears, beckons me, the passion within surges. She is the river I revisit each day when my mind meanders to my village. She is the tattered book on my shelf that buries clouds of tears which my unkind fingers dare not touch.

Why is the desire to abandon a welcome thought? It allures me like a lover, my heart overflows with dedicated passion for you. I do not know you, yet I respond to your call. I want to submit my being to you, bereft of all its ties and tendencies. You smile on me, I run to touch you, and like each time, you drop the curtain.

There you are and there she is. Are you one and can I be one with you? I do not fear losing, all I want is a place away from this place. Show me the way to create your space within myself. I  know you listen to no command or prayer, you would walk in to my life when you deem that necessary, till then, show me the way to dream of you.

She is runs across the grass patch, her anklet leaving a trail of dazzling notes, strung together with consciousness of you. She is infinite like the words crafted in the depth of silence. Like the lyrics embedded in the core of a note, she manifests herself like a tale of a lost land.

There I sit on the edge of horizon, absorbing the fusion of colors from the sea and sky sacrifice their ego and intermingle in a mystic embrace of submission. The clouds clear away and there I see you. You held her for me. Though she is a part of you and I am a weakling who may not be the best, you gift her to me. Coz you know more than anyone how much this blinded being needs the eyes to see You.